Warning(s): Language, shonen-ai

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA and Hetalia. FMA belongs to Hiromu Arakawa-sensei (who is one of the BEST mangaka ever) and Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei (who has the amazing idea of Alfred and co. :D)

Prologue

Alfred stirred from his sleep, groaning as the bright rays of sunlight hit his eyes. He had slept far too late last night, and today was Sunday so he'd really love to bury his head in his pillow again. But even as it was, he still had to get himself out of bed. And so he rolled to his back, but never expected to hit a cold floor with a loud thump instead.

The American lay there, frozen as he mumbled loudly, "what the heck?" As far as he knew his bed was bigger than this time that he could do a full roll three times, so how in the name of God could it shrink in one night?!

Dragging half of his upper body up, he looked around the room confusedly. There was nothing similar to his bedroom, even the walls were different. His walls were painted light brown, but these were painted white… and very plain except for one painting of a mountain. Not to mention that the space was too small for his comfort.

And another thing… he was sure as hell that he had worn blue pajamas for bed, and now the clothes' color was brown?! If this was a trick Alfred would remember to punch the day out of the person doing this.

He yawned – more like groaned, actually – loudly and forced himself to stand up. It wasn't a dream, he knew, but the fact that he was probably inside someone's apartment room unnerved him. Had someone kidnapped him while he was asleep last night? Even so, why run the trouble of changing his pajamas? The thought made him quiver a bit, because hell he might be in some place that he had never known.

Alfred looked at the coffee table beside the small bed and noticed one more thing: his glasses were missing.

And then he gaped. "WHAT THE HELL DID I DO WRONG THAT YOU HAD TO THROW AWAY MY GLASSES ALSO?!" He yelled desperately, his brain apparently not working at all, "y-you, whoever or whatever you are!!"

Banging his head on the nearest wood he could find, the American could vaguely heard frantic clanking footsteps coming closer to his direction. His head was spinning now, and he'd love to just slump back into the bed now, however uncomfortable it might be… but then the sound of door slamming open stopped him in his track.

A tall, huge grayish figure stood at the door, and Alfred had to shake his head to clear his view. There, just in the middle of the door stood a suit of armor with sharp, pointy spikes on its shoulders. The young nation immediately forgot what he was thinking as he deadpanned, "wow."

"Brother, are you alright? I heard your scream from the outside," Alfred put on a blanched face as he could only stare at the talking suit of armor. For several more seconds he kept staring at it; one of his legs already folded on the blanket, and his left hand clenching the white quilt.

"Uh." Was the only reply the American could muster.

"Really, Brother," the suit of armor walked forward, "are you alright? Your scream was louder than usual…" It raised its right hand and rubbed the back of its helmet in what Alfred assumed as a confused gesture.

But as he was probably already turning white with fear, the American did what his instincts told him to do. He leaped back – could feel the concrete wall behind him – pointed to the armor and screamed, "GHOST!!" His brain was filled with lots of ways to escape this place – jump from the window, ram the armor and such – but as a hero, he wouldn't let himself do those things! …Even so, his feet were threatening to collapse.

The armor had the affronted-like expression on its helmet, and it put its hand on its hips. "What do you mean, ghost, Ed?"

Alfred was preparing for his unheroic escape as the last word clicked in his mind. He turned his head slowly, staring at the two spots of light that were probably the eyes, and stated, "what do you mean, Ed?"

An awkward silence ascended upon them as the two stared at each other. Being the impatient person as he was, Alfred spoke first. "I'll be speaking first, ghost-of-an-armor or whatever you are," he ignored the sharp look he was given, "'cause I'm not Ed. I'm Alfred F. Jones, for your information."

"…Are you sure you didn't smash your head yesterday, Brother?" The armor asked again, its tone disbelieving, "'cause I can hardly see anything wrong on the outside from here."

The American paused for a moment to take a deep breath, and raised his right arm, pointing at the standing figure on the door. "I tell you once again, man…" And that was when he noticed something really different about himself.

His right arm did move smoothly, but when the sunlight hit it, his arm gleamed once. For the umpteenth time that morning, he had to pause again as shock hit him like a tidal wave.

His right arm was made of steel. Of fucking steel.

Good, how could his morning get any worse?

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME THIS MORNING?!" His exasperated yell rang through the floor even until the last room at the end.

****

The morning chirps jolted Edward awake that morning. Since when did the birds decided to come back to the tree behind his room? As far as he could remember he hadn't heard of them for at least a year or so…

He rubbed his bleary eyes with his left hand and stretched his body. Gate, that was one of the best sleeps he'd had over the past few years… how had he missed sleeps like that… with all the assignments and missions that were given to him, he barely had any time to rest properly. He still had to recover Al's body, and still had to do all the researches about the Stone.

Blinking twice, he noticed something strange about how his body and his room. His room looked a lot bigger, and even though he felt refreshed there was something that was nagging in his head… Looking down, he knew what that was.

He was wearing someone else's pajamas.

As he was trying to be patient and logical, Edward drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to relax. Panic wouldn't do him any good to solve this matter of why was he wearing someone's blue pajamas.

First logical answer: He was dreaming. Illogical denial: He felt so good that he didn't want it to be a dream.

Second logical answer: Someone kidnapped him and brought him to this room. Illogical denial: Why bring him to this room? Why not dump him in one of the streets and kill him at the moment? Thought he wouldn't prefer that; if he died then what would become Al's fate? Illogical denial level two: Edward knew that he'd made people's life look like hell, but he knew no one that he'd so badly destroy to hate him that much…

And so he decided after a moment, that a cup of morning caffeine – Mustang was really rubbing this habit on him – would help him better.

The older Elric felt unnaturally light as he jumped from his larger bed. He swung his body around and saw a glimpse of his right arm – flesh right arm.

Edward almost ripped the blue sleeve in order to prove his eyes that he wasn't drunk out of his mind. His automail… his right flesh hand had returned?! But when? More importantly, how? Years of dealing with the Gate let he knew that it would never give anything for free… so that would mean that his automail was a price; but he'd lost… Al in the process.

"Hell with it, you damn Gate! I'd prefer my automail if it means losing Al!" He said through gritted teeth, "fuck it, what is this damn place anyway?!"

The door opened with a rather loud slam, forcing the older Elric to turn his head. He spotted a blond with rather impressive eyebrows frowning back at him with a you're-ruining-the-peaceful-morning-you-idiot look. They stared at each other for some time before Ed cleared his throat. "Erm. Sorry about that."

The blond's frown got even deeper, and he replied, "I don't think that all those years of wars are finally taking its toll on you, Al? I thought you were the one who told me to keep fighting till the end."

Ed gaped after the blond finished his sentence. "I'm sorry, but who? I think you just called me Al."

"Well," he began in a neutral tone as he placed the tray on the small table next to the doorframe, "it is your name after all. Or what do you prefer to be called, git or twat?"

The older Elric jabbed his chest with his left thumb and stated, "but I'm Edward Elric. Isn't it obvious?"

"My eyes are still intact, Alfred, even if I'm far older than you." The blond retorted back, "there's nothing wrong with me but there surely is something wrong with you."

Edward's patience was starting to get lower now… and he was just going to snap back when the blond standing across the room spoke again, "you try looking at the mirror. 'cause I can't find anything wrong."

He wanted to yell to deny the blond's statement, but Ed couldn't find it in himself to completely don't trust the thick eyebrows owner. And so with a heavy heart, he trudged over to the mirror located near a cupboard and stared at his reflection.

For one second he had a blank look on his face – except that it wasn't his face – and then the next second he went into a rampage of curses and swearing.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GATE HAPPENED TO ME?!"

A/N: This is only the prologue, since this is supposed to be a light fic after all :) Tell me what you think, please?